


Chess

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: “I'm thirty-five, a miserable arsehole and I have nothing to offer anyone.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's Interhouse_Fest 2016.
> 
> Warnings: Language, a few lashings of angst.

“Oh fuck off!” Ron cried, trying hard to keep his food in his mouth, his plate on his lap and the dog out of his food. “This is _not_ yours, you cheeky bastard.”  
  
He pulled the plate closer to his chest and chewed through his mouthful. He knew he shouldn't be petty enough to get drawn into a staring match with a dog, but it was getting dark and there wasn't anybody else to engage with in the old gamekeeper's hut.  
  
It had felt incredibly wrong to move into Hagrid's old lodgings, but Hagrid wasn't living in them any more and it had seemed wasteful to take rooms in the castle when there was a ready-built space. Ron had immediately done away with the hanging game and scoured the hut more thoroughly than it had been in years. _And banished the shit out of all the spiders._  
  
Shuddering slightly, Ron scooped up some more stew and shoved it in his gob. The Elves were good enough to provide food for him when he didn't want to eat up at the school and he was grateful. Otherwise, he wouldn't eat.  
  
He'd never given Hagrid enough credit for all the hard work he'd done, Ron realised. Maintaining the grounds took a lot of work and it was his responsibility to look after the castle's structure as well as removing magical nuisances, which Hagrid hadn't always succeeded with given his Pink Umbrella Magic. Filch had retired and McGonagall hadn't been able to retain a hardy enough caretaker since.  
  
  
Ron didn't mind. He liked keeping busy.  
  
Keeping busy in the middle of nowhere, wearing a too-large overcoat and tramping across the Hogwarts grounds with Merlin loping beside him.  
  
The dog was the best of companions. Silent, understanding and he didn't nag.  
  
 _Much._ Ron sighed as one paw gracefully rose to rest on his knee. “You're a shit, y'know that?”  
  
He scooped up some more stew and against his better judgement, held it out to his trusty Red Setter. Merlin was lanky and redheaded. It was a perfect match. Ron patiently waited as the food was licked from his spoon, but then there was a gagging noise as the dog began to choke.  
  
“For fuck's sake. Only you could choke on your own drool!” Ron groaned, shoving his plate onto the coffee table and getting down on his knees to the dog's level.  
  
There was no point as by the time he was there things had cleared and Merlin licked his chops a few times contentedly with an innocent quirk of his doggy eyebrows.  
  
“Bastard,” Ron muttered fondly. Merlin let out a whine. “You're not having any more. Otherwise you'll be shitting through the eye of a needle at midnight and it's Baltic out there already. Not all of us get a shiny coat to keep us warm.”  
  
To that end, he got slowly to his feet and moved over to the fireplace. There was something soothing about keeping a fire going without magic and he tried to do it most evenings. It wasn't as if he was short of wood. He chucked some logs into the flames and enjoyed the immediate rush of fire and crackling. He sucked in a deep breath and held it so that the only noise was from the grate and from the clock ticking on the wall. Hogwarts had settled for the night and he supposed he should too, but he was wide awake and to go to bed so early seemed a little pathetic.  
  
There was a gentle clink from behind him as Merlin tried to surreptitiously eat the last of his stew. Ron didn't bother even turning round – he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that any dog of his was lacking in manners when it came to sharing food.  
  
He could do some more planning for the vegetable patch, a nice reminder that the winter wouldn't last forever, but he wasn't in the mood for work.  
  
Being in Scotland had its benefits but Ron had to admit that he was lonely.  
  
“I moved here to be lonely,” he muttered to himself. “It's what I wanted. Now I'm bloody moaning about it.”  
  
He reached up and scrubbed his only recently calloused and scarred fingers over his face. Though magic was essential for his role, he still maintained there was nothing more satisfying than smashing an axe head through a waiting log. It got out the rage and gave him a reason to let out manly grunts every now and then.  
  
Ron had plenty of rage from over the years - from his tumultuous few years as an Auror to his marriage and its subsequent breakdown. Everything which had happened since was just the cherry on top of a teetering pile. He was thirty-five years old and he was standing alone in a hut in the middle of the Scottish countryside. That was certainly not where he'd expected his life to lead when he'd emerged from the war, weary-faced and emotionally damaged. He'd hoped it would be better. That he'd at the very least be happy.  
  
Swearing to himself under his breath, Ron decided to pour himself a drink. If nothing else, he could stare broodingly into the fire and wallow a little. Sometimes it was good to wallow, he thought. _Have a little pity party and then kick yourself hard up the arse._  
  
Yes. He could do with a bloody good wallow.  
  
He was halfway to the kitchen for some plum brandy that Charlie had brought on his last visit home when there was a knock on the door. It was late for a visitor and Ron thought about pretending he was asleep, but a sense of guilt and boredom drove him towards the threshold.  
  
He wondered if he might come to regret that decision if somebody had let off dungbombs – again.  
  
Yawning as he unlocked the door, Ron ignored the clatter from behind as Merlin finally knocked his plate off the table. He shivered as February air swamped his ankles.  
  
  
“Snape?”  
“Weasley. Sorry for the hour. Minerva insisted.”  
“On what?”  
“Whilst you might enjoy the thought of me popping off stood here in the cold, I find myself quite attached to life these days. May I enter, Weasley?”  
  
Feeling stupid – as he often did when he spoke to Severus Snape – Ron nodded and stepped out of the way.  
  
  
“Ignore him,” he advised, waving a hand at the dog. “He has no manners.”  
“There's an old notion of animals being like their owners. I see that is true.”  
“Well, you're as delightful as ever.” Ron sighed and closed the front door.  
  
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his old jogging bottoms and waited for Snape to explain.  
  
Time seemed to slow down. They stood in silence, the only noise once again coming from the fireplace and Merlin slurping happily away at Ron's stew.  
  
“S'fine.” Ron shrugged. “I was done anyway.”  
“Are you talking to your dog, Weasley?”  
“Why wouldn't I be?” Ron made a face. “People talk to their pets. That's a thing.”  
“It's a thing _you_ do.”  
“Everyone does it.”  
“Hmm.”  
  
Snape fell quiet again and Ron found himself growing impatient. He'd been bored, undoubtedly – but not bored enough to subject himself willingly to Snape's company. The Slytherin had grown grumpier as the years had gone on but seemed to have lost a little of the acerbic bile that Ron remembered from school. He even looked to be washing his hair frequently enough that it no longer appeared stringy or lank. He'd shed his flappy, imposing robes in favour of something less formal so that he no longer billowed when he walked.  
  
“What do you want?” Ron asked eventually.  
“Minerva wanted me to check on you. You missed the staff meeting this evening.”  
  
Ron turned to look at the calendar on the wall. The words 'staff meeting' were scrawled over the date.  
  
“Well... shit.” He scratched his head. “I thought it was tomorrow.”  
“I wouldn't worry, Weasley, you're not exactly a member of staff so I don't know why Minerva insists you be there. Perhaps she's just trying to make you feel wanted. Someone should.”  
  
The barb hurt more than it ordinarily might have. Ron tried not to let it show on his face but when Snape had the grace to look guilty he knew he'd failed.  
  
“I apologise. That was uncalled for.”  
“It was pretty out of order, but it was _true_ , so hey, at least you're honest.”  
  
Ron ambled past Snape back to the kitchen, feeling that his glass of plum brandy was even more necessary given the fact that his chest was practically aching with emotions that he really didn't want to be feeling.  
  
He poured one into a glass which he knew wasn't clean. He hesitated before pulling another out of the cupboard and slopping a fair measure into it. Ron shoved the spare at Snape as he re-entered the sitting room.  
  
“Minerva also asked me to bring you this, a list of jobs that between them Filch and Hagrid couldn't perform but she wondered if you would consider.” Snape set down a file on the coffee table. “I wouldn't do any of them, if I were you. Don't be a fool.”  
  
Ron waited a beat before replying. “What, no follow-up dig?”  
  
Snape's brow creased with something Ron couldn't read. He sipped at his drink and exhaled.  
  
“Anything else? Insults, list of jobs... eviction notice?”  
“I would but it seems as though you have nowhere else to go, so that would be particularly cruel and I don't have it in me these days to be that vindictive.”  
“Good for you.” Ron shook his head. “Well, if that's it, don't let the door hit you on the way out, Snape. I've got a bed waiting for me. We're in a very serious relationship.”  
  
Ron stared as Snape stared back. He looked as though he was on the verge of saying something.  
  
“What?” Ron demanded, starting to lose his rag.  
“I...”  
  
Ron waited. When nothing followed he scoffed impatiently and knocked back a good slug of his drink. “Whatever, Snape. I'm done and going to bed. Unless you want to see me naked, I'd get out.”  
  
He stomped over to pick up his fallen plate – Merlin had licked up the mess – and could feel his mood plummeting like a stone.  
  
“What... What if I did?”  
“Did what?” Ron huffed, straightening up again and wincing at the ache in the small of his back.  
“Wanted to see that.”  
“See what?”  
  
“Oh, sweet Merlin, Ron.” Snape's fingers rose to pinch at the bridge of his nose.  
“You just called me Ron.”  
“Yes, I did.”  
“Why?” Ron asked, aghast.  
“I also said that I wanted to see you naked but you seem completely oblivious to that matter. That, or you're half deaf.”  
  
Ron opened his mouth to retort but Snape's words seemed to actually sink into his psyche at that moment.  
  
“You... what?!”  
  
Snape suddenly looked extremely vulnerable clutching his glass of brandy.  
  
“I'm... my apologies. That was completely inappropriate. I'll leave now.”  
“Don't you dare!” Ron shot at him. “You stay put, and you tell me what you mean by that.”  
“I mean exactly what I said.”  
“That you want to see me naked?”  
  
Ron thought it might be the first time he had ever seen Severus Snape blush.  
  
“What the fuck?” Ron heard himself splutter.  
  
 _Well, that's one way to react to a potential shag._  
  
Snape gulped at his drink and Ron watched appraisingly as it all disappeared in a few swallows.  
  
“Impressive.”  
“I'm sure I'll regret it.”  
“Just add it to your list, you'll not notice another.”  
  
Ron flinched when he saw that his words had hurt the wizard in front of him.  
  
“Sorry.”  
“No. As you said before, harsh... but true. And entirely fair.”  
“I'm still sorry, though.”  
“Well there's no need. I'll take my leave of you now and, uh, allow you to become further acquainted with your bed.”  
“Don't go. I really am sorry. I just... didn't think. You get used to not thinking before you speak when you live alone. Nobody cares.”  
“I'm... accustomed to the fact, yes.”  
  
Ron found himself nervously chewing on his lower lip. “Why? Me, of all people. God.”  
“You're a flaming imbecile, that's why!” Snape cried.  
“Er-”  
“You stomp around this castle in that bloody coat with that bloody dog loping along beside you, looking perpetually bored with _everything_ and everyone, and you just lock yourself up inside this godforsaken hut every evening and you don't let anybody near you!”  
“And that makes me attractive why, exactly?”  
  
Ron readied himself to duck – it looked like Snape wanted to throw the empty glass at his head.  
  
“I don't know.” The wind suddenly seemed to go out of the older man's sails. “I don't know, but I can't stop watching you, and wanting to know you and wanting to...”  
  
Finding it hard not to smile as Snape blushed again, Ron shifted awkwardly and looked down at his feet.  
  
“Wanting to...?” he asked.  
“Don't taunt me, Weasley. I am fifty-five years old and I don't want to play games.”  
“I'm not playing games. I was just flirting.”  
“...Oh.”  
“You're aware of what that is?” Ron teased, unable to help himself.  
“You are as subtle as a bull in a china shop.”  
“It's not my speciality.”  
“Then what is?”  
  
Ron found himself without an answer. He'd wound up alone because there was nobody who would put up with his moods or his failings. With each broken relationship there'd been a reason – something wrong with him or something he'd done wrong. His personality. His body. His sense of humour or lack thereof on bad days. His complete inability to emotionally perform as required by someone else.  
  
“I don't think I have one,” he said finally. He shrugged. “I think there's more wrong with me than right. There's a reason I shut myself up in this hut every night with nobody but the dog to talk to. He doesn't judge me. He doesn't ask anything of me except for some stew and the odd cuddle when he doesn't think anybody's watching.”  
“Well, I could do that.”  
“Do what?”  
“Only ask you for the odd cuddle and a bit of stew every now and then.”  
  
He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Severus Snape was asking him to -  
  
“So what? What do you want from me?” Ron asked softly. He gestured between them. “We work together. If this... if anything that happened between us were to go south then we have nowhere to escape to. We have to be professional.”  
“So you'd consider it? _Something?_ ”  
“I don't know. What's the something?”  
  
Ron had in the past found any situation where Severus Snape was stumped or rendered speechless highly enjoyable. He wasn't enjoying watching the man splutter nervously at him, however. He exhaled hard through puffed out cheeks.  
  
“Severus. Be serious. Do you really want something... with me? Me!”  
“Yes.”  
  
Ron found himself blushing then, and feeling undoubtedly quite chuffed.  
  
“So... what would we...”  
“Chess.”  
“Eh?”  
“You're a formidable chess player. I remember that. And if I'd not been so intent on hating you, I would have told you that when you were twelve. My god, I wish I'd been there to see you take that on. It takes a brain and a half to best Minerva like that. I mean... If you'd ever applied that sort of intelligence to your learning... you would have rivalled Granger.”  
  
“But I preferred bunking off and making up my homework at the last moment.” Ron shrugged apologetically. “And hey... I did all right for myself, I guess. Or I did. Before I ended up in a hut with only a dog and my own reflection for company.”  
  
“I'd like to play chess with you.”  
“Snape, is that some sort of code?” Ron couldn't help his playful grin.  
“What?”  
“You'd like to play chess with me? Sure you'd not rather do something else with me?” Ron quirked his eyebrows.  
“Don't be infantile.”  
  
Ron sighed and dropped down into his armchair. “That's just it. I enjoy being infantile some of the time. Being daft. I like acting the prat. I'm very good at it. A formidable prat, you could say.”  
“You seem determined to chase me away.”  
“Is it working?”  
  
There was a moment of hesitation before the reply came. “I'm determined not to let you.”  
  
“But why?”  
“I don't have an answer for you. I just... I suppose it's been some time since I've felt drawn to someone like I feel drawn to you.”  
“There're twenty years between us.”  
“Is that a problem?”  
“I don't know.”  
“I don't think it is. At our ages... it's just a number.”  
“Our ages?! I'm only thirty-five!”  
  
Ron had to laugh at the look on Severus Snape's face.  
  
  
“Fine. I'm thirty-five, a miserable arsehole and I have nothing to offer anyone. Or so I've been told.”  
“Let me be the judge of that.”  
“Why are you pushing this?”  
“Why do you find it so hard to believe that I would want to?”  
  
They stared at one another. Ron realised something – he'd forgotten how it felt to be _wanted._  
  
“It's late. I should... leave this to sit.”  
“Don't go.” Ron got to his feet. “Stay. Stay with me. Let's have another drink. Play some chess.”  
“Is that in code?” Snape asked sardonically.  
  
Ron found himself smiling as he headed for the kitchen to collect the bottle of plum brandy.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
